


Not Quite Fragile Like an Easter Egg

by augopher



Series: The Things We Make, We Make With Love [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Bullying, Domestic Fluff, Easter, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Graduate Student Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Single Parent Derek, Stiles does crafts, bank employee derek, derek and erica are best friends, gender variant character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 03:52:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2758571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/augopher/pseuds/augopher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What started out as shopping for an Easter outfit, turned into a mess, then turned into anger frustration, and more</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You Know What They Say About Good Intentions

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't post my work Goodreads

Erica took Stephen's hand as they walked from the parking lot towards the mall. Just inside Macy's, she turned to him. "So after we get your Easter outfit, what do you say we get some lunch?"

"And maybe see the Easter Bunny too, Auntie Erica?"

“Sounds like a plan.” They rode the escalator up to the children's department on the second floor. At the sight of the rows and rows of dresses, he began jumping up and down with glee.

"Look at them all!" His little legs carried him over as fast they could.

"Wait for me, Buddy." She hurried after him and found him rifling through the racks, eyes wide as saucers, while his little fingers took in the feel of each different fabric on every dress. She pulled a red one off a nearby rack. "What about this one?"

He reached out and felt it, his plastic bangles clacking together as they slid down his arm. "Too scratchy."

“Okay. How about this purple one?” She showed him a purple knit dress with ruffles.

“Not fancy enough. Daddy says it’s a nice dinner. That looks like a school dress. He also says you and Boyd have to dress nice too.”

She pulled it off the rack to look at it closer. “You’re right. Sure is pretty though.”

“Yeah, but this is for Easter. Silly Auntie Erica.” Stephen laughed and skipped to the next rack.

Erica had long since grown patient with how deliberately he chose his clothes, remembering the day Derek called her and, while slightly in panic mode, begged for her help…

… _Her ringing cell phone startled her while she ran on the treadmill in the condo she shared with Boyd. Instead of hitting the stop button, she jumped off the side and hurried to the kitchen. Derek was the only one she assigned a special ringtone to, and he seldom called her this early in the day._

_“What’s up, D?” She tried to make sense of his rambling. “Slow down. It is way too early for me to pick through your nonsense.”_

_“What am I supposed to do, Erica? I have no idea what I’m doing half the time. How do I handle this? What do I tell people who judge him?  I don’t know, and I've been up all night trying to figure out accessories! Why do girls wear so many of them? Shoes? Do you know how many pairs of shoes girls have?”_

_“Whoa, whoa. Are you dating someone and considering buying her shoes? And why is this the first time I am hearing about her?”_

_“What?! No, weren't you listening to me?”_

_“It was all smushed together, Derek.” She rubbed her temples._

_“Stevie wants me to buy him a purse, and headbands. He wants to wear dresses now.”_

_“And you’re calling me because...you’re opposed to the idea and are feeling like a jackass?”_

_“No. I can’t believe you’d think that.” She could hear his irritation through the line. “I wanted to ask if you’d take him shopping? You've seen my non-professional wardrobe. It’s all black, grey and the occasional navy shirt. Even my pants! I don’t know how to buy dresses! I don’t know the first thing about what to buy.”_

_“Easy there big guy. When were you thinking?”_

_“Um…”_

_“I’m free this afternoon. I’ll pick him up at noon. He...wait he just wants to dress like a girl? I don’t need to change the pronouns or anything do I?”_

_“No.”_

_“Okay then. Take it easy, Derek.” She shook her head as she ended the call…_

…And that was how she found herself Derek’s go-to whenever Stephen needed new clothes. She didn't mind; it was nice to spend one-on-one time with the little guy. ”What about this one, Stevie?” She held up a dress made of royal blue, red, and yellow tartan fabric. Around the waist sat a navy sash and bow. The material was a little on the stiffer side so it flared out nicely from the waist. Erica could actually see his eyes widen when he saw it. “I found a slip to wear under it. It feel like it might be scratchy.”

 “I love it.” He whispered, fingers touching the fabric, with such deliberation, almost in reverence.

 “Why don’t go try it on?” They walked out of the girls’ section and over to the boys’ fitting rooms. “I’ll stand outside in case you need help.” She waited outside for him to reemerge in the skinny jeans and black and white striped tunic shirt he had been wearing before. “Well?”

 “It’s perfect.”

 “Yeah? Hey, where’s your headband?”

 He felt the top of his head. “I don’t know. It was just there. Oh no!”

 “Don't cry, Buddy. Just hand me the dress so I can hang it back up. Now go look back in your dressing room.” While he searched the fitting room frantically, she put the dress back onto the hanger. “Hey, Stevie. I found it. It was stuck in the dress.”

He came out of the dressing room, relief written all over his face. “Oh good. That one is one of my favorites.”

 Erica helped him put it back on his head. “That’s better. Did you get your hair cut again?”

 “Yeah, Daddy took me on Wednesday. It was too long. He said the bangs were in my eyes.”

 She laughed. When Derek told her Stephen wanted to dress in girl’s clothes, naturally she figured he’d want his hair longer to accommodate more accessories, but nope. He still kept it in the regular boy's cut it had been for a couple years now. “Why don’t you go look at the jewelry right there,” she pointed to the display about ten feet away, "and I will pick out some tights? Don’t run off.”

 As he skipped off to peruse the display filled with beads and baubles, with metal chains and ribbon, Erica looked through the various colors before deciding on a pale blue. When she turned around, she bumped right into someone. “Oh God, I’m so sorry. I didn't watch where I was going.” The woman tried to brush it off, but her overly solicitous smile was a bit unnerving.

 “I wasn't going to say anything, but I just couldn't stay quiet about it.”

_God, not another one._ Erica remained calm, even though she wanted nothing more than to turn and walk away.

 “He’s a boy; he needs to dress like one. He needs to understand there are acceptable social norms. Straying from those leads to bullying, and indulging his fantasy to wear dresses is going to do more harm than good.”

 “Or maybe he’ll actually have a positive body image because family loved and supported him instead of forcing him to be someone he’s not.”

 “Doubtful. This kind of behavior leads to deviance in adulthood. He’ll be one of those men who off on wearing women’s panties and lingerie. It goes against nature.”

 “Frankly, so long as it’s safe and consensual, how an adult expresses their sexuality in the privacy of their own home is no business of yours.” Erica looked over the woman’s shoulders at a girl a few years older than Stephen. “That your daughter?”

 “What does that have to do with it?”

 “She’s wearing pants and sneakers. Why is that acceptable, but this isn't?”

 “That’s not the point. You don’t want him to be a freak do you?”

 Erica had had enough. She turned on her heel only to see Stephen drop the necklace and pair of shoes in his hand and run away. She had no idea how long he’d been standing there, or how much he heard. Erica made sure to give the woman a death glare before hurrying to find him.

 At first she thought that maybe he’d run back to the fitting rooms. “Hey Stevie, you in here?” There was no reply, and after ten minutes of looking, her worry level increased with every second. She was about to ask for help from employees to call a Code Adam or something when she saw his black ballet flats sticking out from a rack of clothing. She sat down on the floor and moved the hanging shirts out of the way. “Hey Sweetie, how about you come out of there and we can talk about it?”

 He wiped his nose on the back of his hand. “No.”

 “Well did you still want to see the Easter Bunny?”

 “No.” He sniffled.

 “Come on out. Lunch?”

 “I’m not hungry.”

She extended her hand and helped him out of the clothes. She showed him the tights she’d found and how they went with the dress.

However, he knocked them out of her hand, his little face scrunched up in both anger and hurt. “I wanna go home!”

“Okay. But you need an outfit for Easter.”

He grabbed the first dress shirt and pants combo he could find. “Here!” He sobbed.

“You sure you want these?”

“These.”

Erica found the right size and walked to the registers. She didn't say anything about how he’d stowed his headband and bangles into his purse and handed it to her, nor did she make a comment about how he’d turned his black hoodie inside out to hide the pink stars silk-screened onto the back. He looked so defeated, and she really wanted to find that woman and give her a piece of her mind, to tell her to mind her own fucking business.

 


	2. Did I Do More Harm Than Good?

When Derek walked in the door that afternoon, he found Erica sitting on the couch rubbing her temples. He also noticed the enormous pile of Stephen’s clothes on the floor by the stairs. “What’s the matter?” He gestured to the mess.

She pointed upstairs. “Just give it a second.”

Within moments, Stephen’s bedroom door opened, and Derek watched his son carrying an armload of his clothes and shoes only to toss them over the railing, crying all the while. Not even a second later, the boy’s bedroom door slammed shut. “Erica, why is my six-year-old throwing all his clothes on the floor? How long has this tantrum been going on? You know you can discipline him if needed. We've been over this. Time-outs work really well with him as does taking away story time before bed.”

She shook her head. “It’s not a tantrum. I’ll clean these up. Just go talk to him.”

“Where’s his outfit for tomorrow?”

“The bag on the chair.”

Derek looked in the bag, brows furrowed. “He picked this?”

“That’s not what he really wanted. I took pictures of the first outfit if you want to see them. Just talk to him.”

Derek sighed and walked up the stairs. His son’s room was a disaster. All the drawer’s had been pulled out of the dresser, except for the one containing his a-shirts and underwear, the only masculine clothing Stephen had. Apparently, as Stephen told him, “girl underwear doesn’t fit right, doesn’t come in shorts, and doesn’t have the little hole for your wiener, Daddy. I’ll get pee on them when I go potty.”

He wanted to march downstairs and demand to know what the hell happened to cause his son to throw a blanket over the mirror, blocking his reflection, but refrained. The purple ruffled bedspread sat in a ball outside the door. Hangers littered the room. “Hey, Stevie. Can I talk to you?” All he got in reply was a broken sob and sniffles.

He glanced around the corner of the closet to find his son sitting with his knees clutched to his chest. Instead of his usual clothes, Stephen wore one of Stiles’ t-shirts from his drawer in Derek’s dresser, presumably because they were smaller than Derek's. He’d also found his black pair of sweatpants. Though his head was buried in his knees, Derek could see there was no headband, no hair bow or barrette.

“You want to tell me what happened?”

“No.”

“Well, then can I come in and sit down with you?”

Stephen nodded, and Derek walked into the closet and sat down on the floor next to him. To his surprise, Stephen crawled into his lap and clutched at his shirt. “I’m a freak.”

Derek gritted his teeth and took a deep breath. “No, no you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Look at me...please.” Stephen turned his face upward, his eyes red-rimmed and puffy from crying. Derek took his face in his hands. “You are not a freak.”

“But everyone says so.”

"Just because they say so doesn't make it true." He ran his hand through Stephen’s hair. “I don’t think you’re a freak, neither does Auntie Erica or Stiles. Does Amy think you’re a freak or any of your friends?”

“No.”

“Then try not listen to what anyone else says.”

“But-”

“I know it’s hard, but just try. Okay?” Stephen nodded. “Good. Now, do you want to tell me why are all your clothes on the floor downstairs?”

“Boys can’t wear dresses, or anything pretty. It’s against the rules.”

“What rules?”

“I don’t know, but the lady said-”

“Forget about what she said. Okay? While Erica is here, do you want me to go buy that dress?”

“No. I’ll just wear the pants.” He sighed.

“How about you help me clean everything up, and we can go play Candyland after dinner?” Derek was pretty sure Stephen just wiped his nose on the front of his shirt. “You get started cleaning up in here, and I will go put a pizza in the oven. How does that sound?”

“Sounds good.” Despite the fact that he appeared to feel better, Stephen did not change back into his own clothes.

 

                                                                                                                 *   *   *  *   *

 

Once the pizza was stowed in the oven, Derek picked up his phone and waited for Stiles’ bright voice to answer.

“Hey you.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look I know you’re already coming over tomorrow morning, and you’re probably out with friends right now, but could you stay over tonight?”

“Everything okay? You sound…”

“Rough day, and...I just… Stevie wanted to see you.” Damn it, Derek would get the hang of feelings. Up until that point, he’d tried to get how he felt from his brain to his lips, but the words kept dying on his tongue. Someday he’d get there, be able to ask how Stiles was real, to say he loved him, but tonight he had simply wanted to say that he needed him, and even that fell short.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Actually, I am just finishing up dinner with Scott. Then I have to run and pick up some stuff for tomorrow. Is eight fine? I mean it’s Saturday, so will he be in bed then?”

“I can keep him up until you get here.”

“Well, I will see you later then. Hang in there.”

Derek went through the piles of clothes on the couch, separating them into appropriate stacks. _Thanks for folding these, Erica._  He hadn't even heard her leave. It took five trips to get everything upstairs. Once there though, he smiled.

Stephen had fallen asleep on his poorly made bed, but at least he’d cleaned his room a little. Derek took the remaining hangers and put the dresses and fancier clothes back to their rightful place in the closet, setting his many pairs of shoes up in neat little rows by color, which had prevented many before school breakdowns in the past. Making as little noise as possible, he put the drawers back into the dresser. That was probably too hard for Stephen to do by himself.

All his books and toys had at least been put back on their shelves and in the toy box. So there was that. Had this all been a temper tantrum, perhaps Derek would have been angry. As it stood, Stephen had just worn himself out crying. On the dresser, Derek found a little note scribbled out in blue crayon.

                                            _Sorry I made a mess. Daddy. That was not nice. Love Stephen Alexander Hale_

He laughed at the fact his son had signed his full name to a note instead of just writing Stevie. When all the clothes had been put away, he tapped his son on the shoulder. “Hey, Buddy. Pizza’s ready.”

“I’m tired.”

“Please come have at least one piece, for me, and then you can go to bed if you want. I don’t want you going to bed hungry.” He looked at his watch. Six thirty. Stephen would be up at the asscrack of dawn, but Derek could manage that. Stephen rubbed his eyes and held onto Derek’s hand while they descended the stairs.

Stephen ate in relative silence, finishing two pieces instead of just the one. He stood. “Can we play Candyland tomorrow with Stiles, Mr. Slinksi, and Auntie Erica and Uncle Boyd.”

“Sure we can, but that’s too many people. Only four people can play at a time.”

“I can be on Stiles team. He might need my help.”

Derek pretended to be insulted. “And what about me? What if I need help?”

Stephen rolled his eyes. “Daddy, you are Candyland expert. You don’t need my help.”

“But- you know what? I will see if I can find other pieces so we can all play. You going to bed?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want me to read you a story?”

“No, thank you.” Stephen gave Derek a hug. “I’m sorry I threw all my clothes on the floor and made a mess.”

Derek kissed his forehead. “It's okay. I forgive you. Why did you sign your letter with your full name?”

“Because when you write letters, for work you sign that way. You said it makes it official.” Stephen said sounding out each syllable of official very deliberately. “Night night, Daddy. Love you.”

“I love you too, Buddy.”

While Stephen climbed the stairs, Derek cleaned up dinner and washed up the few dishes in the sink. He was exhausted. It would have been a long day regardless, having first helped his elderly neighbor, Mrs. Walters get her garden tilled and ready for planting _("Such a nice boy, Derek. Your mother would be proud of you, you know? Doing your best to raise that free spirited little boy by yourself, and still finding time to help a little old lady with her garden_."), then a work meeting which was two hours too long. At least he got to have lunch and a beer with Boyd. So that was nice, but the thing no one bothered to tell him about being a parent, was that when his child was hurting it would just drain him emotionally, and he'd feel just as bad if not worse than his kid.

He turned on some music before grabbing Stephen’s Easter present and basket from the top shelf of the guest room closet, wondering if the pink rabbit would even be well received after today. It wasn't like he had any alternative at that point. One by one, little plastic eggs were filled with candies, coins, and a couple got beaded bracelets, but what should have made him happy, instead made him question his parenting choices in the worst way. So deep in his head, he didn't even notice Stiles walking through the front door until he felt arms wrap around his neck.

“Looks nice. You do all that yourself? It’s awfully quiet in here. Stephen go to bed already?”

Derek nodded. “Yeah.” His response sounded as wrecked as he felt, and not wrecked in the way he preferred.

“So I guess he couldn't wait up.”

Derek pushed the basket to the middle of the table, dropping his head into his hands.

Stiles was too perceptive for his own good sometimes. “Hey what’s the matter?”

“I lied. He didn't ask for you.”

“So really what you were saying was that you wanted to see me?” Derek just nodded into his hands. “Oh Derek,” Stiles pulled back upright so he could rub Derek’s neck and shoulders, “you’re allowed to ask for what you want you know?”

He tilted his head back and looked up at Stiles. “I know; I just clammed up.”

Stiles grabbed his hands and yanked him out of his chair. “Come on.” Stiles practically dragged him into the living room where he popped a movie into the BlueRay. “I have it on good authority that Emperor’s New Groove is great for cheering you up.” He sat at one end of the couch, patting his leg.

Though it took him a second to figure out his boyfriend’s intent, Derek eventually got it and lay down, resting his head on Stiles’ thigh. He couldn't help the appreciative moan that crept out of his throat when Stiles began to card fingers through his hair.

“Oh  you like that, do you?”

Eyes closed, Derek nodded and smiled. “Feels nice.”

“You’re like a big puppy. You know that? If I rub your belly, is your leg going to start shaking?”

“Very funny.” He grabbed Stiles hand, and bringing it to his lips, kissed it.

“So you want to tell me about your terrible day?”

Derek sighed and told him everything. “And when I got home, he’d thrown all his clothes over the railing, almost as if he wanted to throw them all out just because of what some stranger said, like it disgusted him that he should like such things. He was crying his eyes out in his closet, because the witch told Erica he’d grow up to be a freak.” He scrubbed his hands over his face. “Erica said he looked destroyed to pick the suit over the dress, to make himself look like everyone else says he should. After today, I mean, I never cared if it wasn't, but I don’t really think it’s a phase anymore. That’s fine. I love him just as he is. It... Yeah it’s one thing when he’s young like this, but how am I supposed to protect him when he gets older and the kids get crueler, when words become more than just hateful words? It’s just….did I do more harm than good encouraging him at the beginning instead of saying no? Maybe then he’d just resent me, but he wouldn't have to hear the things people say about him.”

“Derek...you don’t want him to hate you. That would break your heart. Babe, you are so good with him. Why would you want to take that away over words?”

“Because then he’d hate me instead of everyone else hating him. I don’t-” His voice cracked, and he pressed his palms in his eyes to stem the tears welling up in them. “I don’t want him to end up bullied to the point of suicide, and I definitely don’t want to get that call in the middle of the night ten years from now saying they found his body, that someone with nothing better to do than judge beat him to death all because he was different. How do I… you didn't see his face. He covered his mirror so he wouldn't have to look at himself. He’s six! Why is any six year old- Fuck. This all just…”

Stiles pushed out from under Derek’s head, offering his hand.

“What are you-”

“This,” he pointed to the movie, “is not what you need right now,” he said as him pulled upstairs.

Derek let go of Stiles hand for a moment so he could go check on Stephen. Thankfully, he’d fallen asleep in his bed and not hiding in the closet or anything, though he’d kicked the blanket off him. He pulled it back up and over the him and kissed his forehead.

Back in the hall, he turned to Stiles. “What did you have in mind, epic cuddle session?”

Stiles coaxed him into the bedroom, closing the door behind them, before pushing Derek up against the wall. “Not really. You are going to shut this off,” he poked Derek in the forehead, “and let me take care of you tonight.” He kissed along Derek’s jaw before settling on his lips, lingering there a while, just hovering, daring him to protest.

“I don’t deserve you.”

“No you don’t, but I don’t deserve you either. It balances things out.” He ran both hands under Derek’s shirt, pushing it up and over his head. He let it fall to the floor, before divesting himself of his own, kissing his way down Derek's torso to fumble at his belt. He wasn't entirely sure what he’d been thinking when he’d said it. Stiles didn't really think sex was going to fix Derek’s mindset tonight, but he couldn't think of anything else to get his mind off his bad day, and yeah cuddling might have helped, but how long would it have taken for the man to start thinking the worst case scenarios again?

Derek let out a hiss when Stiles nipped at the skin of his collarbone, sucking a mark into the skin.

“Shh,” he pressed a finger to Derek’s lips, “I know your rule: No hickies where they can be seen. Relax, your shirt will cover it.” To his surprise, Derek took Stiles’ finger into his mouth. “Fuck.” Stiles groaned. “You are too much.”

Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles’ bare torso, kissing him like his life depended on it. It didn't take long for ‘I’m going to take care of you,’ to be thrown out the window only to be replaced with passion and barely contained abandon.

 


	3. You Can Be On My Team

“Morning.” Derek said, his voice still heavy with sleep, despite his freshly showered appearance. He pressed a kiss to the back of Stiles’ shoulder as the man stood at the stove making breakfast. “You’re up early.”

“Hmm? Oh yeah, found myself wide awake at five a.m. and thought might as well do something productive with my time rather than stare at the ceiling.” He gestured haphazardly to the kitchen table where he’d finished the assembly of Stephen’s Easter Basket. Not only that though, true to form, he’d crafted a centerpiece of eggs and rabbits, little carrots in the grass. On the counter, sat a stack of Solo cups decorated to look like rabbits. There was one for everyone. Underneath them, sat a stack of custom placemats. “I hid the eggs outside already. I prepped the ham, so it just needs to go in the oven. I have rolls proofing too. All the prep-work for the side dishes is done too. I also set up the coffee table with a couple activities for Stevie to do later. And look,” he pointed to the skillet, “bunny pancakes.”

Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles’ waist. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

“I seem to remember being told that once before.”

“Thank you.” The breath from his words ghosted over the skin of Stiles’ neck, just below his ear. Derek didn't want to let him go just yet, but he could see his presence at Stiles’ back impeded the man’s breakfast assembly.

“There’s coffee ready for you too. Breakfast is just about finished if you want to go wake up Stevie.”

Derek nodded and climbed the stairs. “Hey Buddy.” Gently, he shook him awake. “Time for breakfast. There’s bunny shaped pancakes downstairs.”

Stephen’s eyes snapped open. “Did you say bunny shaped pancakes?”

Apparently, that had been the perfect thing to say, because the boy was out the door and bounding down the stairs in no time. “Stiles! Hi!” Stephen ran into the kitchen, crashing into Stiles’ legs, his little arms clinging tightly to the man’s pants.

“Good morning, Buddy.”

Stephen let go of him when he saw the table. “Wow. Look at my basket. Did you make this?”

“Your dad did.”

“Well, Stiles helped.” Derek corrected between sips of coffee. “Look at the cups he made for everyone to use at dinner.”

“They’re bunnies. They’re so cute.”

“And look here,” Derek showed him the coffee table, “there are crafts you can do later.”

There he was again, trapping Stiles’ legs in a vice grip. “Thank you.” He beckoned Stiles down to his level.

“You like it?” Stiles asked, kneeling down on the floor.

“I love it.” He whispered. “Why did you do all this for me?”

Stiles’ eyes widened, and he swallowed hard as though he were weighing the words on his tongue very carefully. “Because...I… you’re an awesome kid who tries to be nice to everyone. And awesome kids who try to be nice to everyone, get cool things like bunny shaped pancakes.”

Stephen kissed Stiles’ cheek and scampered to his waiting plate of pancakes and cup of milk, leaving Stiles there on the floor cursing himself internally for the leaving  _“Because I love you just like I love your Daddy,”_ to linger unsaid in the air around him. He took a moment to collect himself before rising quietly to go shut himself up in the bathroom.

Derek stopped him. “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, just I should go shower.”

“Wait. Have breakfast with us.” He gave Stiles a soft peck on the mouth.

“Eww gross! Daddy and Stiles sitting in a tree. K-i-s-”

“Quiet you.” Stiles chuckled and sat down across from Stephen. “How are your pancakes?”

Stephen shoveled a bite into his mouth. “Yum!”

Breakfast passed by in a series of giggles, but neither man could deny the way the atmosphere changed when Stephen came downstairs later, dressed in his new Easter outfit.

“Buddy, you don’t have to wear that if you don’t want to you know.”

“Yes, I do.” It was almost as if while getting dressed, the boy remembered everything that happened the day before and worked himself up again.

By the time Erica had arrived with Boyd, and Stiles returned with his dad, the bright smiles from breakfast were gone.

“No, Dad. You are not allowed to help cook. Go make animals with Stephen.” Stiles pushed his father out of the kitchen. “Setting our kitchen on fire is one thing, but you are not doing that to someone else's. Not on my watch.”

John sat down on the couch taking in the colorful array of craft foam, plastic eggs, and little pieces of pipe cleaners before him. “What are you making, Stephen?”

“Animals.”

He couldn't help but notice how dejected the boy looked in his pants and dress shirt, the little clip on tie looking more out of place than it should have, almost like a leash by which the world could drag him along, beating him down until he fit an ideal.

“You make ears and...what’s a chicken’s nose called?”

“Beak.”

“Thanks. You make those out of the foam. Stiles said the back is sticky, so you can stick them to the eggs. There are eyes too. Then you put feet made out of these,” he held up some pipe cleaners, “and glue them on. Then you put them in the little basket after you fill them with candy. Stiles has little baskets. He said everyone gets one.”

Through his whole set of instructions, Stephen hadn't looked up once, choosing to stare down at the table, as though eye contact hurt. “You know, you don’t look very happy in that suit.”

He sighed. “I’m not.”

“Then why are you wearing it?” John glued a pair of rabbit ears to his egg.

“People say mean things. They hurt my feelings.”

“That’s not very nice. What do you think? Cyclops rabbit?”

Stephen gave a little chuckle. “No, rabbits have two eyes.”

He stuck a second eye on the egg before gluing on whiskers. “Can I ask you a question?”

Stephen shrugged. “I guess.”

“Why do you like to wear the dresses, you know and the headbands?” He was pretty sure his tone sounded curious and not judgmental, which is what he was going for. “I mean, I understand why some people do, but I’d like to know more about you. If that’s okay.” There. _Nice recovery Stilinski. Making an effort is good._

Stephen carefully put his creation, a pig, into one of the six baskets, just like he had with the other seven animals he’d made. “Well, because they’re pretty. Boy clothes are sooooo boring. Everything is t-shirts with stupid pictures and jeans. Their shoes are boring, always sneakers. There’s nothing nice. Except for stuff like this,” he pulled at his dress shirt, “and even this is boring. But the clothes for ‘girls’,” he rolled his eyes as he said girls, “are so nice. They’re soft, and different. Plus, I like headbands even when they’re not shiny or sparkly or have flowers or bows. Nail polish is neat and so is make-up. It’s like face paint you can wear everyday, or like war paint. Boys have none of that stuff. Pants, shorts, shirts...it’s so exciting...NOT”

The sheriff chuckled. The sarcasm game was strong with this kid. Lord help him if he and Stiles ever banded together. World domination would most likely ensue and very quickly at that.

“I don’t understand. Girls wear pants. nobody tells them they’re freaks.”

“No, they don't. But you don’t wear makeup. At least you don’t look like you do.”

“No. Daddy says I’m too little. But sometimes,” he covered his mouth in an attempt to be secretive, as if hiding it made the words undetectable to unwanted ears.  “Auntie Erica lets me wear some of hers when I stay over, just not out of the house.”

The sheriff nodded. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Stephen took a look at the bunny in the Sheriff’s hand and giggled.

“What? You don’t like it?”

“You don’t do crafts much do you? Stiles should help you more. He’s a good helper.”

He seemed to agree with the boy. “You’re right. I should ask him to teach me.”

“Move the ears.” Stephen reached across the man’s arm to adjust the ears on his egg. “There, they look nice. Now add a tail.” He gave him a white pompom, and the Sheriff glued it onto the back of the egg. “Much better. Hey, can I ask _you_ a question?”

What? Why would he want to do that? _I am not all that interesting to small children. “_ Sure. Go ahead.”

“Stiles said you are a policeman.”

“Yes.”

Stephen set the salvaged rabbit in the basket for Stiles. “Can the police help kids with bullies?”

He looked across the table at him. “Are you being bullied?”

Stephen nodded. “Joey Franklin in the third grade, he doesn't like me much. He used to just say mean things, but now he pushes me, and never when the teachers are watching. but if they can help, and I say I know a policeman, maybe he’ll stop?”

John felt a lump rise in his throat. “Well, not always, but hey, I will see what I can do.” He sighed. Stiles had once asked a similar question. “You know, sometimes, when a kid bullies others at school, they are bullied at home by older siblings or parents. Does Joey have older siblings?”

“I don’t know. He’s just a big meanie.”

“Well how about this? I will look into it on my end, and in the meantime, you keep telling a teacher every time he bullies you or says something mean to you. You keep doing it, and eventually they are bound to see something. If they do, and he doesn't get in trouble, make sure you tell your dad, and he will tell me. Okay?” John’s hands were kind of tied, short of checking into whether there had been any domestic disturbance calls for the Franklin’s residence. “Now why don’t you go dress up in something you actually want to wear. You should be happy on Easter.”

Stephen’s eyes brightened. “Thank you.” He traipsed up the stairs, and when he returned downstairs in a simple purple dress, his whole demeanor had changed.

John was not quite sure how to react when the boy came up and hugged him, and he definitely didn't know what to make of Stephen’s insistence that they be on the same team for Candyland once dinner had finished. Apparently, just because he was bad with crafts, it also meant he needed help with a children’s board game aged 3-6 years. He suspected, though, it was more likely tied to what he’d said to Stephen in the living room. It was like he’d made a new best friend. _Well at least one little kid likes me._

He tried not to draw attention to the way his son’s face beamed with pride at his father’s new shadow, or the fact the way Stiles looked at Derek was exactly the way his mother used to look at John.

Stiles would figure that out on his own like he did everything else.  
  



End file.
